


Wounds Go Unwashed

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know I can give you your memories back, Isaac.” Peter was smiling quite pleasantly, which automatically put Isaac on edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounds Go Unwashed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinyslasher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyslasher/gifts).



> Happy Birthday shiny_luv! I hope you like this for all it is neither particularly happy or birthday. Ummm. Sorry.
> 
> Warning: dub con

“You know I can give you your memories back, Isaac.” Peter was smiling quite pleasantly, which automatically put Isaac on edge. 

Isaac knew there were memories the Alpha Pack had taken – memories of his mom, his brother, Erica, Scott. He knew there were holes. Some of them he wished he could fill and some of them he was sure he was happy to do without. But holes in his memory meant he was…less. On the other hand, it was Peter and Isaac _knew_ not to trust him. Especially when they were alone in what had been Derek’s loft and there was no chance of anyone else coming back anytime soon.

Peter huffed out a bitter laugh. “Of course, some memories might be better left unrevealed.”

“There’s some I’d chose to remove, yeah.” Those memories seemed to be the ones left in his head. Isaac shook his head at himself. He knew better than to engage. He had spent time with Peter because Derek had but Derek always seemed one wrong move from ripping Peter’s throat out. And Derek was gone, leaving Isaac to grab the rest of his stuff before heading back to the McCall house. 

“Wouldn’t be you, then.” Peter had oozed closer, his ridiculous dress shoes making no noise on the floorboards. His breath caressed Isaac’s cheek as he leaned nearer to whisper in Isaac’s ear. “And that would be a shame.”

Isaac wondered what Peter meant by that. His spine was prickling – he didn’t like people standing behind him at the best of time. There was also the aura of bad touch that Peter gave off like a bad smell. But part of him liked the implication of the compliment. For all the shit with Derek and Scott and Allison and pack, for the pant wetting terror he’d gone through since taking the bite, Isaac still, deep down, liked the idea that someone wanted him, liked him.

He smelled something he knew to be arousal from Peter, which made him even more certain this was a bad plan, before Peter placed his fingertips against the back of Isaac’s neck. They sharpened into claws but didn’t press in. “That didn’t entirely work last time,” Isaac pointed out, biting down his fear.

“I have a…better plan.”

 

Peter had him take off his shirt first, place his hands flat on the surface of the metal table that ran in front of the window. Peter’s claws traced lightly over his skin, leaving little waves of fire in their wake. He seemed to be tracing patterns, swirls, dots. Even though Isaac knew the tiny cuts healed almost before Peter finished tracing the line, he felt like they were cutting deeper than the movements suggested. Lines of blood started to form the picture Peter was painting – Isaac could feel its weight, smell it. He had no idea what the swirls formed. It could be Peter’s name for all he knew.

Peter’s tongue was sudden and unwelcome. “Went wrong,” he whispered as he shifted back from Isaac. The wet left behind by his lick made Isaac shiver. It felt colder than ice cubes. “Keep your hands on the desk.”

Isaac looked down. His hands were claws, even though he hadn’t felt the shift. He focused on their tips, yellow and gnarled. He wondered what they’d look like covered in some of the nail polishes Allison liked to use, the sort Erica had used once upon a time. Would the color vanish when he let his claws retract? Would it be there next time, when he was fighting some of the constant threats that seemed to be facing Beacon Hills? Isaac was so lost in his contemplation of ridiculous minutiae that he almost missed Peter’s hands at his belt.

“What?” Isaac twisted around, desperate to catch a glimpse of Peter’s face.

“Keep your hands on the desk.” Peter’s voice had an undercurrent of growl, something remaining of the Alpha he’d been. Isaac flattened his palms without really thinking it through, although the response of “Good boy” made him shiver again. Peter stripped his pants down, lifted his feet, taking the pants off, his socks off, his shoes off. Isaac was left in his underwear until Peter stripped that down too.

“You can tell me to stop, Isaac.” Peter’s words were whispered into the skin at his hips and Isaac knew he could. He could lift his hands, push Peter away and run far away until he was safe and with his new pack and forget all about this. He could choose to be the broken one, the one with holes in his head, so many important things taunting him with their lack. Isaac had been told over and over he was lacking, not good enough, not smart enough, not strong enough and he could do something about it.

“No. Keep going.” Peter’s mouth against his hip was unexpected and Isaac steeled himself. The hand sneaking around to grope at his balls, his dick, was less unexpected and more inevitable. Isaac tried not to be embarrassed at the way he hardened, almost without pause. He hung his head down, closed his eyes, as Peter’s clever hands teased him, taunted him. Then they vanished and Isaac was left, hard, chest heaving, naked and exposed. 

“You look good like this,” Peter said. “Perfect, even. The perfect beta.” His voice was far away, to begin with, coming from the other side of the loft. Beside Derek’s bed, perhaps, or the couch. Then he was close again, words whispering into Isaac’s ear, hissing. “I was never a perfect beta.”

The claws were back, patterns being formed on Isaac’s chest. Isaac’s eyes fluttered open, unable to stop himself looking as Peter covered him in a mockery of signs that were almost like Derek’s tattoo. The red seemed to writhe, though, in an unhealthy way that the tattoo never did, lines twisting and snarling like knotted ropes.

Peter’s hands clamped down on Isaac’s hips when he was done, holding tight. Isaac let himself be pushed down – guided was too soft, too gentle a description and he wasn’t forced, not entirely – until he was bent over, forehead resting on the cool table and his ass exposed. Peter left him like that long enough for Isaac to want to move, to cover himself but not long enough for him to actually do it. In fact, it was as if Peter could read him almost better than anyone.

The brush of clawless fingers against his hole was enough to make Isaac let out a small noise of protest. “Hush,” Peter told him, almost absent-minded. “You will like this better than claws in the neck.”

Isaac just widened his stance.

 

When Peter finally stopped teasing and slid his cock in, kicking Isaac’s bare feet wider with his shoes, Isaac moved his hands. He pillowed his forehead on them and just held on tight as Peter fucked him, hands back on his hips. The sweat running down his back cooled quickly in the dead air of the loft, but not before it blurred the patterns Peter had so carefully clawed out of him. Isaac felt something shift in him, something in his head, as Peter nailed him, worked a hand under Isaac and stroked him hard.

Peter was crooning something but Isaac ignored it, tried to ignore everything and chased the faint drift of his thoughts, his memories. They were almost there – smells, sounds more than images at first. He could see Derek standing above a grave, offering him a hand out but couldn’t work out what he was saying. He smelled the lacrosse field, but didn’t see why the crowd were cheering. Scott was there, that scent of his that was becoming home and safety. Under it all was the heat, the stretch of Peter, the rustle of his clothing, the breathing that was getting harsher and harsher. Isaac knew he was getting close too – he could feel the burn turning into something good and satisfying, the flood of memories seemed closer and closer… 

His orgasm was almost secondary to the way everything seemed to come together in his head. Holes, gaps he wasn’t even aware of, filled in and Isaac collapsed forward, the table the only thing keeping him up. Peter pulled out, leaving Isaac feeling sticky and used. The feeling only intensified a moment later when Peter’s come landed on his bare ass, a sticky hot mess.

Then Isaac felt the pinch of claws at his neck, his teeth filling his mouth and his claws scraping across the metal surface of the table, making him scream.

 

Peter was licking at his fingers when Isaac come to, lying in a pile on the dusty floor. “They should stay now. Shouldn’t be…vulnerable.”

Isaac felt like his skin was itching all over. It was hard to see straight with all the memories suddenly slamming into his brain. He saw his mother dying all over again, received the news of his brother’s death. Peter’s eyes swam into his line of vision, blue at first and then sliding towards a purplish color. A memory of Peter, carving runes into Isaac’s skin, making him bend over and take him, nailed itself into place. Peter in the memory was grinning just like Peter now and both Peter’s laid a soft kiss on the top of his head. “See you around,” they said. “Again,” said the Peter who was here, now and leaving him naked on the floor of the loft.


End file.
